


in a mirror, darkly

by LadyMerlin



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, Established Relationship, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Possessive Hannibal Lecter, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Sharing a Bed, Slice of Life, Someone Help Will Graham, Stream of (Insane) Consciousness, caveat emptor, how does one tag when canon is batshit?, how does one warn for canon?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24253522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMerlin/pseuds/LadyMerlin
Summary: “I wasn’t expecting you,” Will says, moving to the small kitchen that has become familiar to Hannibal. “I’m afraid I don’t have much in the house. Can I get you a coffee? Or perhaps, I could order a pizza?”Hannibal wrinkles his nose at the suggestion, and is almost surprised by Will’s ensuing laughter. It’s increasingly rare these days, and all the more endearing for it. “Yeah, I thought that’d be your reaction. Sorry, Doctor Lecter, I don’t have anything else to eat.”Oh, Hannibal thinks, theirony.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 307
Collections: Hannibal





	in a mirror, darkly

**Author's Note:**

> Jesus f*ckin' Christ, I thought people were exaggerating when they said this show was _seriously_ queer, but I've watched 6 episodes in 24 hours and I'm on the verge of losing my entire mind. Mind though, I've only watched six episodes in season 1. This probably has very little to do with canon (unless I get lucky), and what characterization I've got is based on a blend of these six episodes and the Hannibal Wiki. Please be kind, I banged this out in a couple of hours. 
> 
> Also, yeah. Title comes from a Star Trek: TOS episode, soz.

Sleeping with Will Graham is both easier and more difficult than Hannibal had anticipated. 

It's clear that he trusts Hannibal and sees him as a friend, but for all that Will has allowed him intimate access to his person, his mind and his thoughts remain guarded. For someone who is so trusting, Will is painfully cautious. He's built his walls into a tower of solitude, but he stands atop them and dreams of the day someone cares enough to break through. It makes for a fascinating paradox, and Hannibal will admit, part of what had first attracted him to the man had been a sort of professional curiosity, an almost academic interest in what is - by all accounts - an anomaly. 

Part of the reason for Will’s initial mistrust of him was that he’d seen Hannibal’s curiosity for what it was, having unknowingly stepped straight into the shoes of the most skilled hunter he had ever met. The most skilled hunter he would _ever_ meet. In hindsight, it's almost amusing that it had taken Will so long to understand what he was looking at; a reflection of himself in a dark mirror. 

But Hannibal understands people too, even if empathy isn’t one of his many attributes. Not in the sense it is for Will. He understands how they work, in the same way engineers understand machines; cogs and gears and nerves and muscles and neurons, all working together in a giant Rube Goldberg machine, until he puts them to better use, the sum of the parts greater than the whole. 

In that sense, getting Will into his bed had been remarkably easy. Perhaps too easy. 

For all that Hannibal is a dark reflection of Will’s psyche, Will too, reflects. Hannibal is hardly inexperienced himself, but most people with whom he had been intimate had known, somewhere in the recesses of their minds, that they were lying next to someone - some _thing_ that was not quite like them. 

Oh, most would have explained it away as the average American’s discomfort with psychology, the charming little fear of being read like open books... As if most people are anything more than little magazine blurbs, some a little longer than others, full of the exact same fears and hopes and desires as each other, and above all the thought that they are each unique. Hannibal has never had any complaints - he’s far too much of a perfectionist - but neither has he had many repeat encounters. 

The animal brain is a remarkable thing, but it is always trumped by higher intelligence. 

Which is why Will’s discomfort is infuriating, at first. It does not make sense that a person who is as fascinating as Will, utterly extraordinary in Hannibal’s esteem, could be so ordinary in this sole respect. It feels like a personal affront. Will understands him. Will knows that he faces no threat from Hannibal (for now). He can not fathom why Will refuses to spend the night with him. 

People leaving his bed after achieving climax is hardly unusual, but _they_ don’t return to him, day after day after day. _They_ don’t - they _never_ see him in his full glory, or understand him the way Will does. Why then, does Will refuse to stay? 

The only answer Hannibal can fathom is - after his temper has cooled - that Will is hiding something from him. And this is not surprising; Will is after all a terribly private person. Hannibal knows that as a psychiatrist, he has already been allowed more insight into Will than most people ever have - or ever will. But he is not a patient man. 

Or at least, not for these things. 

So one night, he invites himself to Will’s home, before Will can make his way to Hannibal’s. Contrary to Will thinks, Hannibal isn’t disgusted by his home. He doesn’t think it’s small or old or poorly furnished; admittedly he doesn’t think much about it at all. But from the outset, it’s a different experience, foreign territory to his own. Will Graham on his own ground is a different creature than elsewhere, and Hannibal knows he has begun to push the man into a corner, just by the act of coming here. 

People do the most interesting things when they have their backs up against a wall. 

“I would have come,” Will says in greeting, and miraculously he doesn’t sound defensive, only curious. 

Hannibal inclines his head slightly in acknowledgment. He knows. “Should I leave?” It’s a neutral question, all his anticipation carefully hidden so as not to sway Will’s answer. Hannibal will not stay if Will asks him to leave. He much prefers taking what is lovingly given. Fear turns every kiss acrid, and to take now in pursuit of a single goal would be akin to slaying the golden goose. He wants all of Will, everything he can get. If Will pushes him away, well. It doesn’t bear thinking about. 

Will shakes his head, his curls bouncing slightly. Through his glasses, his eyes are magnified before he ducks his gaze and looks away, over Hannibal’s shoulder, in that way he has. “No, you’re welcome. Please.”

True enough, Hannibal is gratified to see that there’s a packed bag on the counter-top; the same one Will brings to his house every night. Will had been intending to come to him, tonight. 

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Will says, moving to the small kitchen that has become familiar to Hannibal. “I’m afraid I don’t have much in the house. Can I get you a coffee? Or perhaps, I could order a pizza?” 

Hannibal wrinkles his nose at the suggestion, and is almost surprised by Will’s ensuing laughter. It’s increasingly rare these days, and all the more endearing for it. “Yeah, I thought that’d be your reaction. Sorry, Doctor Lecter, I don’t have anything else to eat.” 

Oh, Hannibal thinks, the _irony_. 

“I did not intend an ambush, Will. I have brought dinner. It’s a little late for coffee, but I hope you will not object to a glass of wine?” 

Will never objects to a glass of wine with dinner. Not around Hannibal, at least. He nods and smiles slightly, directed at the floor rather than at Hannibal himself, though the meaning is understood. 

Will begins to fidget just as they are about to finish eating (delicate slivers of blood sausage on a fresh garden salad with heirloom tomatoes and olive oil - nothing too upsetting to the constitution - edible at room temperature without refrigeration during the drive from Hannibal’s home to Will’s). Hannibal doesn’t address the nervousness; it would be the best way to drive Will back into his shell. Like any animal, he must wait patiently and be still, and wait for his prey to approach him. 

“I’m not a very restful sleeper,” Will says eventually, characteristically reluctant to share what he thinks is a weakness or some sort of flaw. 

“I know,” Hannibal replies calmly. He does. Will has told him. He dreams. He sleepwalks. But it is one thing to hear about Will’s restlessness, his night terrors, and another thing entirely to experience them in person. Hannibal wants to be there while Will sleeps. He thinks it is the closest he will get to inhabiting Will’s mind, and he _wants_ it with a hunger that surprises even him. 

“I never sleep through the night,” Will continues, like he needs to confess before they get any further. 

Hannibal is perfectly willing to grant any absolution he needs - forgiveness comes easily when there is nothing to forgive. “Neither do I,” Hannibal lies. 

Will looks at him skeptically, like he can taste the untruth, but Hannibal doesn’t care. He is here because he wants to be, and for no other reason. Still, he privately marvels at the fact that Will understands him so well. It’s refreshing. 

“Would you like to come to bed?” Will asks casually, as though this isn’t the first time he has invited Hannibal into his bedroom to sleep. He stands up and waits for Will to lead the way. “Do you have anything to wear?” he asks, half-way through the bedroom door. 

“I do,” Hannibal replies. He prefers to sleep in the nude, but he understands that everyone has preferences. He has seen what Will wears to sleep. He has selected similar garb and carefully removed the tags, so it takes Will longer to realise that they are brand new. Hannibal does not keep things that he does not use. He thinks he will keep these as a memento. 

“You don’t have to sleep here, you know? Sometimes the dogs - I’ve got a guest room, and - if this is something you’re doing to show commitment or support - I’m not expecting that from you.”

Hannibal shakes his head once, before Will has even finished his sentence, and then stops. He holds out a hand, palm up, and waits for Will to take it. When he does, he pulls Will close to himself, chest-to-chest, so that he’s looking down, straight into Will’s speckled blue eyes. He does not blink. “I do not do anything that I do not want to. I am here because I wish to be here, with you. And,” he says pausing for a moment, “I like your dogs.” 

Will kisses him, and it is like consuming him and also being consumed, like being inside Will, feeling his warmth and his heart beating and his blood pulsing just beneath thin layers of skin. It is as intimate as anything else they have done, and it is _satisfying_. The lion inside his chest growls. 

Will allows Hannibal to wrap his arms around his body when they lay down. The last thing he says is, “I’m sorry if I wake you up.” 

Hannibal can’t wait. 

He drifts. He meditates on his plans and his actions and on Will, and his sleep is light enough that he is awake the moment Will whimpers in his sleep. 

Will has shuffled away from Hannibal in his sleep, presumably in deference to Hannibal’s own body heat, but now that he is awake he can see the man is damp with sweat, shivering from it. The noises coming from his throat are remarkably sexual, and Hannibal wonders if this is what Will will sound like when he dies, soft and sweet and terrified. 

He puts a gentle palm on Will’s forehead and it is ice-cold, but he does not wake. This is not surprising. Hannibal watches him as he thrashes, turning his head this way and that as if he’s trying to look away from something that’s painted behind his eyelids, watches as cold sweat soaks through his clothes, as his hands clench in the bedsheets, futile anchors. It’s breath-taking. Better than almost every show Hannibal has ever seen. 

Hannibal only intervenes when a strangled scream threatens to escape from Will, getting caught in his throat. He wishes he could see what it is that Will is truly afraid of, whether there is anything of Hannibal in it. There would be no greater compliment. 

But until they are truthful - entirely truthful - with each other, this is not something they can discuss. Hannibal cannot risk suggesting anything to Will, whose intuitive leaps are something even he cannot always predict. 

He shakes Will by the shoulder, gently and then more firmly until Will gasps awake, sitting upright in his bed. It takes him almost ten seconds to realise he’s not alone, and that Hannibal is sitting right there, watching him. His expression is terrified, and Hannibal wonders - not for the first time - whether the terror stems from a truth that Will has subconsciously intuited, or whether it’s just a dream about the people in Will’s life doing unspeakable things, as they so often do. 

Oh, it would be nice if one day, Will looks back at this and realises that he’s _always_ known the truth; that of all the unspeakable people in Will's life, Hannibal is the _most_. 

“Hannibal,” Will whispers, and Hannibal nods. He strokes Will’s hair away from his forehead, where it’s sticking to his skin. “Sorry,” he rasps. Hannibal shakes his head but doesn’t speak. He suspects Will is apologising for waking him up, but witnessing this is a gift. Hannibal should be thanking him. 

“Do you mind if I take my shirt off?” 

Hannibal doesn’t mind, and waits for Will to do so before removing his own. Skin-to-skin contact is one of the most basic and instinctive ways to form connections. He strips the sheets off the bed while Will is splashing his face with cold water and then toweling himself dry. 

When Will comes back into the bedroom, Hannibal pauses for a long second, just watching. “May I try something?” he asks eventually. Will looks wary but nods. He waits for Will to lie down before he crawls back into bed. “Relax,” he says, “I will not hurt you.” Not today. 

“I know,” Will replies, and Hannibal wonders if he had heard the unspoken words, then. 

He moves slowly and watches Will’s face for the moment his expression indicates he doesn’t want this anymore. He lies down partially on top of Will, so that Will’s right arm is under his own body, and the top of Will’s head is tucked into the crook of his neck. Will’s hand clenches into a fist behind Hannibal’s back, but he doesn’t say anything. Hannibal tucks his leg between Will’s thighs and then presses a hand against the side of Will’s head, so that Will is pressed against Hannibal’s body, from head to toe. 

It should be uncomfortable. Two adult men aren’t built for sharing space like this, curved into each other like parentheses. It should be uncomfortable, but it is not. Hannibal can feel the flutter of Will’s eyelashes against the base of his throat, like the wings of a bird. 

“Do you hear my heartbeat?” he murmurs, keeping his voice low and soft. 

“Yes,” Will replies, just as softly. 

"It is steady because I am alive, and I am here, beside you." 

"Yes," Will says, even though Hannibal had not asked a question. 

“Let the sound guide you through your dreams,” Hannibal says, more an order than a suggestion. 

“Yes,” Will agrees for the third time, barely making a sound as he drifts gently to sleep. 

Hannibal stays awake, and memorises the weight of Will’s body in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone: Will, you need a therapist.  
> Will: Gets a therapist.  
> Everyone: No, not that therapist. 
> 
> Send love please. I don't think I'm going to be sleeping for a while.


End file.
